


We Need to Talk About Arthur

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [57]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Morgana, Awkward Conversations, Corporate Espionage, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Manipulation, Friends to Lovers, Ill-Advised Rebound Sex, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulation, Matchmaking, Morning After, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon, Oblivious Merlin, Poor Life Choices, Scheming, Stalking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Arthur is acting weirder than usual. Morgana refuses to get involved. Meanwhile, Merlin wants his best friend back (and maybe more besides), but that's easier said than done.Sequel to "We Need to Talk About Merlin."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble prompt #254: Ham 4 Cam lyrics (You'll Be Back).

 

As is often the case with Monday mornings, the Monday after Valentine’s Day dawns earlier than it has any right to. Merlin, who had slept all of five hours the night before and consequently nearly missed his alarm, showers with the practiced speed of the chronically overdue and abandons his breakfast in favour of making it to the tube on time. As the doors close behind him, he wedges himself between an old man and a dishevelled young woman apparently on her way home after a night on the town, and finally allows himself to check his messages.  
  


> **Edwin [12:44am]:**  I know you’re upset, but I told you I’m sorry. I’ll love you till my dying days. What more do you want?  
>    
>  **Edwin [12:53am]:**  Come on, Merlin, don’t throw away this thing we had.  
>    
>  **Edwin [12:54am]:**  Merlin.  
>    
>  **Edwin [12:55am]:**  Merlin.  
>    
>  **Edwin [12:57am]:**  Merlin. Answer me.  
>    
>  **Edwin [01:02am]:**  Now you’re making me mad.  
>    
>  **Edwin [02:22am]:**  Fine. You’ll be back. You belong to me, Merlin. Remember that.

  
Jesus, did the man ever sleep? With a roll of his eyes, Merlin deletes all seven —  _seven_ — messages and checks his voicemail. Another half a dozen missed calls, some of them even from people he wants to talk to. But none from the number he’s been waiting for.  
  
He still hasn’t heard from Arthur.  
  
Merlin had spent the entire weekend — or what remained of it— alternately wallowing in his heartbreak over Edwin (something that had become less and less painful with every ridiculous text he received) and reliving the unexpected tryst he and Arthur had shared in the conference room. At the time, it had seemed like the only logical course of action: Merlin was hurt, Edwin was a douche, and Arthur had been  _right there_ , being all sweet and noble and entirely Arthur-like, and Merlin’s poor trampled ego hadn’t been able to resist. In the cold light of day, however…  
  
“I fucked up,” Merlin mutters, slumping in his seat. The old man pats his knee.  
  
“Don’t worry, son,” he says. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”  
  
Merlin smiles wanly, and puts his phone back in his pocket. No doubt the two of them will be able to move past it, eventually. They’ve been too close for too long for something like this to come between them — break-ups, bar brawls, blind dates; they’ve seen each other through it all. It’s mostly just getting through the next nine hours that will be the real challenge.  
  
The train pulls up to his stop, and Merlin gets off ahead of most of the other passengers, half running, half walking up the steps and out onto the street. He’s not late, exactly, but he’s definitely running behind, a fact which is made abundantly clear to him by the hands of the humungous clock hanging in the Pendragons’ foyer.  
  
“Hold the lift!” Merlin calls, dashing across the lobby. He skids into the elevator to discover — of course — Arthur is the one holding the door for him, a familiar amused smile on his face.  
  
“You’re late,” he says, pressing the button for their floor. “One of these days, you know, you’re going to have to buy yourself an alarm clock that actually works.”  
  
“You’re late too,” Merlin retorts, immediately on the defensive. He folds his arms over his chest, wishing he’d let the lift go and taken the next one. He’d really been hoping to put off this awkward encounter until he’d at least gotten his hands on some coffee. “It’s almost nine, why aren’t you in the office already?”  
  
“I’ve been here since seven am,” Arthur says calmly. “I had an early meeting. Which you’d have known if you ever bothered to read the emails I send you. What’s with you this morning?”  
  
Merlin presses his lips together. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”  
  
Arthur’s gaze flickers over him, one eyebrow raised. “You do look more like a zombie than usual,” he says, still in the same infuriatingly casual tone. “Everything okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I was just, uh…thinking.” Merlin runs a hand through his hair and glances at the changing numbers over the door. Surely it doesn’t usually take this long to reach the 12th floor?  
  
“About anything in particular?”  
  
_Yes. You._  
  
“Just…things.” He clears his throat. “Everything that happened with Edwin, you know.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
It’s only a single syllable, but Merlin is already blushing like a fire engine, biting down on his lower lip to keep back a tidal wave of embarrassment. This is why he never does one night stands, and why he never sleeps with his friends if he can help it. He has never been good at negotiating the aftermath, especially not with someone who’s as important to him as Arthur is.  
  
“I, um. Had a good time at the party on Saturday,” Arthur surprises him by saying, glancing at him sidelong. Merlin’s stomach contracts at his expression, the blush still threatening to ignite his entire face, but at least now he isn’t the only one who seems nervous. “Well, aside from the whole Edwin thing, anyway.”  
  
“Yeah?” Is he saying what Merlin thinks he’s saying? “Me too. Apart from the whole Edwin thing.”  
  
They share a tentative smile, and Arthur is taking a breath as though he’s about to say more when the lift bell dings, and the doors slide open onto the twelfth floor. God damn elevators and their timing, anyway.  
  
“Merlin.” Before Merlin can step out into the reception area, Arthur’s hand is on his arm, his gaze unnervingly intense for nine o’clock in the morning. “Give me half an hour, then meet me in the break room? I’m willing to bet you skipped breakfast this morning, and I — well. We should probably talk.”  
  
Merlin swallows hard.  _Shit, shit, shit._ “Right,” he says. “I mean, yeah, sure. Break room, thirty minutes. I’ll be there.”  
  
“Excellent.” Arthur’s face relaxes into what looks like a genuine grin. “Don’t be late!”  
  
“I wouldn’t dare,” Merlin mumbles, watching him go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble prompts #255: It's Quiet Uptown and #257: Work (Artist Appreciation Month #1).

 

In the end, Merlin is so anxious not to be late that he winds up leaving his desk early, well before the allotted thirty minutes are up. He hasn’t seen Arthur enter his office yet, so it’s not really a surprise to find him already in the break room, laptop on the counter, speaking urgently into his phone in short, clipped sentences. He looks up when Merlin arrives, however, and waves him inside with an absent gesture.  
  
“Yes. No, I understand. No, that would not be a good idea. No. Look, just…don’t sign anything, don’t say anything, and I’ll be there as soon as I can, all right?”  
  
He hangs up without saying goodbye, and closes his eyes for a moment, drawing a long breath in.  
  
“Apparently you don’t understand the concept of a _break room_ ,” Merlin observes, taking a seat at the counter next to him. “This is a sacred space, where employees are supposed to sit and chat, not actually do any work. You know, a place where they can have a break?”  
  
“Yes, well.” Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “Apparently _you_ don’t know how to tell the time, something which I have long suspected but never been able to prove.”  
  
“Har de har ha.” Merlin resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him, but only just. He knocks against Arthur’s shoulder with his own. “I was hungry. And…maybe a little nervous.” He looks down at the counter, picking up some wayward crumbs with his forefinger and crushing them against his thumb. “I thought you might have decided to ignore me forever. Or at least have me reassigned to another continent.”  
  
“Ah.” Arthur scrubs a hand through his hair. “Right. About that. Merlin, I— ”  
  
“No, hear me out,” Merlin says, interrupting him. “I was the one who started it, after all. I kind of feel like I owe you an explanation.”  
  
Arthur shrugs. “All right.” He slides off his chair and starts assembling the tea things, shoving a box of stale biscuits in Merlin’s direction. It’s too early for anyone to have thought about morning tea yet, and Merlin’s stomach is rumbling. He wipes his palms on his trousers and then takes several.  
  
“It’s just,” he starts, then backtracks. “Look, you were right. I was pissed off about Edwin and I wasn’t really thinking straight. I should never have kissed you like that.” He bites his lip, looking apologetically over at Arthur. “I think I was just…angry and hurt and it felt good to know that someone cared about me. I may have gotten a bit carried away.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur says slowly. “I can understand that. But — Merlin, it wasn’t exactly a one-sided thing.”  
  
“I know.” Merlin thinks back to precisely how one-sided it _wasn’t_ , and hopes he isn’t blushing. “But you were drunk, and, well, drunken sex with the ex is a cliché for a reason, isn’t it?”  
  
“I don't think it was — “  
  
“Besides, it’s not like either of us were making the best decisions that night,” Merlin rushes on, interrupting him. “You would never have come after me in the first place if I hadn’t caught my boyfriend having sex with a soul-sucking fiend from the depths of Azkaban— ”  
  
“A _what_?”  
  
“Don’t ask.” Merlin shakes his head. “I’m just saying, do you think maybe we can chalk the whole thing up to circumstance and move on? I really don’t want this to make things awkward between us.”  
  
Arthur is silent for a long time, leaning his elbows on the counter as he waits for the kettle to boil. Up close, he looks like he’s had even less sleep than Merlin has: several buttons of his shirt are undone, the shadows under his eyes much deeper than usual. He’s studying Merlin’s face with that same intensity that he’d shown in the elevator, like he’s trying to determine what Merlin is thinking by peering directly into his brain. Since Arthur has frequently told him that he doesn’t have a brain, let alone thoughts interesting enough to wonder about, Merlin is pretty sure he’d deny doing any such thing, but the scrutiny is enough to set loose a small cloud of butterflies in his stomach.  
  
“Arthur?” He prompts finally, wondering whether he’s about to be sacked after all. “If you need time to think about it, just tell me.”  
  
“No, it’s fine.” Arthur coughs into his fist. “Am I to take it this means you _don’t_ think we should try the dating thing again?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know,” Merlin says, laughing a little. “I mean, can you imagine? I’m pretty sure we’d kill one another within a week.” He glances at Arthur, who is now fiddling with one of the empty cups, a frown on his face, and tries to lighten the moment. “Why, were you thinking about asking me out?”  
  
Arthur puts down the cup abruptly and reaches for the tea bags, dropping one into each mug with a level of concentration disproportionate to the difficulty of the task. When he begins pouring the water in and adding the milk and sugar, still without saying anything, Merlin’s heart starts to beat a little faster in his chest. Of course, Arthur can’t actually be _considering_ it. The two of them had been together for only a few months, years and years ago, but that had been more than enough for both of them. They were definitely better off as friends. Weren’t they?  
  
“No, I suppose you’re right.” Arthur says at last. He catches Merlin’s eye and smiles as he hands him his cup, although the expression on his face looks somewhat forced. “You already drive me crazy as it is.”  
  
“Exactly,” Merlin agrees. The butterflies in his stomach have turned into something heavy and he takes a hurried sip of his tea to get rid of them. There’s really no need for him to feel so flustered. “So we’re good? You’re not secretly planning to ship me off to Cambodia or something in revenge?”  
  
“We’re good,” Arthur confirms, lips quirking upwards.  
  
There’s an awkward moment where they’re both just staring at each other, smiling, and Merlin ducks behind his teacup to hide an unexpected flush. Arthur looks away, clearing his throat.  
  
“I should go,” he says, tipping his untouched cup of tea into the sink. “Vivian Alined just got engaged again, and I promised I’d keep her father from killing the groom.”  
  
“Right,” Merlin says, wincing. Vivian Alined is a long-term client with a chronically overprotective father and more broken engagements than a Hollywood celeb — dealing with the latest father/daughter grudge match could take hours. “I’ll clear your schedule.”  
  
“Thanks, Merlin.” Arthur washes the cup, then sets it on the draining board without looking up. “See you later, yeah?”  
  
“Later,” Merlin echoes automatically. He watches Arthur leave, still feeling oddly unsettled, then jumps as a text pops up on his phone.

> **Edwin [09:43am]:** This isn’t over, Merlin.

  
Merlin scowls, deleting the message with a vicious beep, and rubs his eyes. He still has one more biscuit left, but pushes it away. Somehow he doesn't feel all that hungry anymore.  
  
He doesn’t get any work done for the rest of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble prompt #258: Lovers Remember All (Artist Appreciation Month #2).

The only problem with agreeing to forget is that suddenly Merlin can’t stop remembering.  
  
On Tuesday, when Arthur gives him some files to put away, Merlin remembers the way Arthur held out his hand when he'd invited him to dance. On Wednesday, it’s Arthur’s aftershave, catapulting him back to the conference room and Arthur’s head pressed back against the sofa, his body taut and shuddering under Merlin’s tongue. Thursday and Friday he spends uncomfortably aware of Arthur’s wrists and the shape of his mouth, the way his hair seems to pick up the ambient light whenever he moves, and on the following Monday he comes back to work refreshed only to have the whole cycle begin all over again.  
  
Merlin has always found Arthur attractive — that had never been their problem — but it's been over a week since the masquerade and every time he looks at the man it’s as if it's somehow a new discovery. Small details ambush him at unexpected moments: the crinkles around Arthur’s eyes, the length of his eyelashes, the strength of his hands and forearms where he leans against his desk. Sometimes, when he’s alone in the office, Merlin can’t help remembering the way Arthur had looked that night, sprawled like a sated lion beneath him and gazing at Merlin with an expression that almost looked like —  
  
“Merlin.” Arthur snaps his fingers impatiently in front of Merlin’s face. “Merlin, are you listening to me?”  
  
“Hm? Oh. Right.” Merlin blinks himself out of his daydream, flushing as he realises the object of his lustful imaginings is standing right in front of him. The exasperated expression on Arthur’s face suggests that this is definitely not the first time he’s called Merlin’s name. “Did you need something?”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur says slowly, clearly holding on tight to his temper. “I need my PA to actually do his job and tell me whether the Alineds have called this morning.”  
  
“No, they haven’t,” Merlin replies, after a moment’s reflection. “But Valiant has, he says he wants the draft of that proposal by noon or he’s going to…um. I’m fairly sure it was something to do with a goat, or possibly stuff the contract down your throat? Neither of which sounds good.”  
  
“You realise you’re supposed to give me these messages straight away, right?” Arthur inquires, raising his eyebrows. “That they could be important?”  
  
“Sorry.” Merlin’s blush deepens. “I was…busy.”  
  
Arthur folds his arms and glances skeptically around the room — which is empty — then at Merlin’s desk, which is also surprisingly uncluttered for this time of the morning. “Right,” he says. “I’m sure you were.”  
  
Since Merlin can’t exactly confess to having been ‘busy’ popping an inappropriate office boner over an incident they had both agreed meant nothing and was never to be revisited, he has to endure Arthur’s twenty minute lecture on time management in silence. At least it has the benefit of reminding him exactly why he and Arthur had never been romantically compatible, even if they had been good in bed.  
  
Arthur is a tyrant. And a slave-driver, and a prat. And as long as Merlin can remember _that_ instead of what he looks like with his kit off, they stand a decent chance of getting past this with their friendship intact. Probably.  
  
"...in the meantime, we really need to get on top of things," Arthur is saying, and Merlin tunes back in just in time to see him rubbing at the little notch between his eyebrows, a tell-tale sign of mounting stress. “Which means I need to make sure I’m getting my messages on time. Do you understand?"  
  
“No, Arthur, I'm constitutionally incapable of comprehending why I might need to pass information on to you, my boss, in a timely manner. It’s not as if it’s _written in my job description_.”  
  
Arthur scowls at him. "You're not taking this seriously at all, are you?"  
  
"Not really, no." Merlin comes around the desk to take a sheaf of papers from Arthur’s hands, and begins sifting through them. “You finished the Valiant file yesterday. Is it really that important for me to tell you what he said?”  
  
Arthur deflates a little, his shoulders slumping. “No, I suppose not,” he says with a sigh. “He was only calling to piss me off, anyway.”  
  
“I know.” Merlin squeezes Arthur’s arm. “You see? It may look like I’m doing nothing, but in fact I’m keeping you from dying of a stroke before the age of forty. You should thank me.”  
  
Arthur’s mouth quirks upwards in a small smile, but Merlin doesn’t miss the way he steps immediately out of reach, putting a careful distance between them once more. “I’ll thank you once you’ve delivered those to my father,” he says, nodding at the files in Merlin’s hands. “In the meantime, I think I’m going to be working through lunch again, so order me something from the deli, would you?”  
  
Merlin mumbles his assent, watching Arthur’s retreat with a slight frown. Arthur has always been something of a workaholic, but Merlin had been under the impression that the twelve-hour workdays were a thing of the past. The fact that he's sliding back into old habits suggests that something is seriously bothering him, something he can’t talk to Merlin about.  
  
Unfortunately, Merlin has a sinking suspicion he already knows what that something might be.  
  
It takes a few more days before he’s certain. Arthur has never been what you might call demonstrative, but he says a lot in casual ways — a brief squeeze of the shoulder, a hand on Merlin’s lower back, even ruffling his hair sometimes when he’s drunk or feeling especially affectionate. Ever since their little talk in the break room, however, Arthur has done none of those things. He still insults Merlin, and Merlin still insults him back at least a dozen times a day. But although Arthur grins and rolls his eyes the same way he always has, he never shoves Merlin into the shelving anymore, nor wrestles him for the best croissant at lunch, and when Merlin isn’t actively making him laugh he often seems pensive, even sad.  
  
The only conclusion Merlin can come to is that Arthur has noticed Merlin’s regression into horny adolescence whenever he’s around, and it’s making him uncomfortable. Only, because he’s Arthur, and therefore nobly repressed about anything regarding actual _feelings_ , he has no idea how to explain to Merlin that he very much does not want what happened on Valentine’s Day to ever happen again.  
  
The realisation makes Merlin flush hot and then cold in quick succession. Arthur is his best friend. It was Arthur who had arranged for Merlin’s mother to have her hip surgery at a city hospital so that she could be closer to her son. When Merlin’s old mate, Will, had broken his neck in a riding accident, Arthur had been the one to drive Merlin to Ealdor for the funeral, and had sat with him through the seemingly endless nights that followed, listening to his childhood stories without complaint. In spite of how crazy Arthur makes him on a daily basis, he’s the first person Merlin turns to when he has a problem and the last person he would ever want to alienate because of some stupid mistake.  
  
Which is why, Merlin decides, he’ll simply have to show Arthur he has nothing to worry about. It’s been on his mind for a while anyway, ever since Morgana made that comment about ill-advised rebound sex, and now he's even more convinced that a fresh start might be a good idea.  
  
The phone picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”  
  
“Hi Gwaine, it’s Merlin.” Merlin takes a deep breath, and decides he might as well go for it. “I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks flying vegetables* It's all going according to plan, I swear!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble prompt #295: renewal.

 

The date with Gwaine is a disaster.  
  
Or, well, that’s not entirely true. Gwaine is his usual charming self, from his improbably-shiny hair to his infectious smile to the tips of his fancy patent leather shoes. Merlin is pretty sure that even in the event of a zombie apocalypse, Gwaine would somehow contrive to look good, and it’s not as if the man doesn’t know how to make him laugh. No, Gwaine is not the problem: Merlin is the problem. Specifically, Merlin’s absolute inability to flirt with Gwaine is the problem.  
  
He doesn’t even realise what he’s doing, at first. When Gwaine’s foot brushes against his beneath the table, Merlin automatically moves out of the way, thinking the other man needs room to stretch his legs. He isn’t even aware that Gwaine’s hand is on his arm until he reaches for his water glass, dislodging it, and when Gwaine goes to put it back, Merlin snatches up his glass again and drains it, then sits with his hands in his lap, fidgeting beneath the table.  
  
Finally, when Merlin fails to respond to yet another innuendo-laden comment with anything but stammering confusion, Gwaine leans back in his chair and says frankly, “I think I may have misread this situation.”  
  
Merlin blinks at him. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Not that it matters, but I haven’t struck out with someone so fast since I accidentally hit on my sister’s roommate back in college,” Gwaine says, his dark eyes twinkling. “And she was a lesbian, whereas I don’t think you have that excuse. Did I do something wrong?”  
  
“No, of course not!” Merlin can feel himself blushing, and he scrubs at his hair with one hand. “I’m sorry. I just have something on my mind right now—it’s making me a bit distracted.”  
  
“Mhmm.” Gwaine takes a sip of wine. “And would this be the same tall, blond, snobby something I saw you dancing with on Valentine’s Day?”  
  
“Arthur’s not a snob,” Merlin says automatically, before wincing and shooting Gwaine a sheepish smile. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can convince you I was actually thinking about something else?”  
  
“Not a chance,” Gwaine confirms, smirking. Fortunately, he seems more amused than angry, hooking one arm over his chair and stretching his long legs out to regard Merlin with an expectant expression. “So, what _is_ going on with you two, anyway? Pendragon seemed to think it was ancient history, but judging by the colour of your face right now, it seems like maybe it’s a bit more recent than he let on.”  
  
“We—dated once,” Merlin admits, trying to ignore the pang he feels at such a prosaic summation of their relationship. “For a few months, back in uni, but it didn’t stick. Now he’s my boss, and my best friend.”  
  
“And?” Gwaine prompts.  
  
“And I slept with him.” The words tumble out in a rush, and Merlin buries his face in his hands. “The night of the ball. My boyfriend—now ex boyfriend—cheated on me with Arthur’s ex-girlfriend, and somehow we just sort of ended up…”  
  
“Fucking,” Gwaine supplies sagely. “I _thought_ Pendragon looked a little hot under the collar when I saw him leaving the dance.” Merlin makes a humiliated noise, and Gwaine laughs, reaching across the table to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “Cheer up, mate, it happens. I take it he didn’t want to renew your relationship afterwards?”  
  
“Oh, no, that was me,” Merlin says, straightening up. “I mean, we’ve been there, tried that, you know? We’re much better off as friends.”  
  
“Huh.” Gwaine sounds surprised, and Merlin looks at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh, nothing. I just thought Arthur must've called it off, that’s all. So what’s got your knickers in a twist, then?”  
  
Merlin explains about Arthur and his odd behaviour while Gwaine nods and makes encouraging sounds in the background. “…and then when I told him I was going out with you tonight, so I couldn’t make it to our usual movie night, he just…he didn’t even say anything. Usually I would have expected some teasing or something, but he just nodded and told me he hoped I had a good time. And then he left,” he finishes, slumping in his seat. “Like I was—I don’t know, one of his football buddies, or something. It was weird.”  
  
“Hmm.” Gwaine purses his lips in thought. “What’s so wrong with being one of his football buddies, though? I mean, if you don’t want to date him—”  
  
“I don’t,” Merlin assures him.  
  
“—then I don’t really see the issue. Maybe he’s pulling away so that you don’t get your wires crossed next time you’re feeling drunk and horny.” He swallows the last of his wine and shrugs, tossing his hair back out of his eyes. “That’s not weird. That’s smart.”  
  
Merlin shovels some food into his mouth in lieu of answering and tries to figure out how to respond. On one level, yeah, what Gwaine is saying makes sense. If Arthur’s trying to set up some boundaries for their friendship, then that’s his prerogative—it’s not as if he’s dropped Merlin entirely, after all, so what’s the problem? But Merlin has always kind of subconsciously felt that there’s a difference between how he and Arthur relate to one another and how Arthur treats, well, everyone else. They have their own kind of language, a private give-and-take that most people aren’t a part of, and he’d hate to lose that closeness just because Arthur didn’t think he could keep his hands to himself.  
  
When he tries to explain this to Gwaine, however, the other man just makes another thoughtful sound and raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Are you _sure_ the two of you aren’t dating?”  
  
“Really, really sure,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “Would I be here if we were?”  
  
“I don’t know, maybe you have an open relationship,” Gwaine says, then yelps as Merlin smacks him on the arm. “All right, all right. Let me put this another way. If you had to save either Arthur or Edwin from a burning building, who would you choose?”  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin says immediately. “But that’s only because Edwin is a cheating douche.”  
  
“Touché,” Gwaine acknowledges. “Arthur or a neighbour's puppy?”  
  
Merlin levels him with his flattest stare. “The puppy, obviously.”  
  
“Seriously, Emrys?” Gwaine shakes his head, grinning. “That’s cold, man.”  
  
“Arthur’s a human being, he has a better chance of figuring out how to get out by himself,” Merlin defends, jabbing his fork in the air for emphasis. “A puppy, on the other hand…”  
  
They spend the rest of the evening bickering companionably about who and what they would rescue from a house fire, and it’s not until Gwaine drops Merlin on his doorstep that he realises they’ve spent most of their first date talking about Arthur in some shape or form.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment. “I’m a terrible date, aren’t I? I swear I’m usually better company.”  
  
“I had fun anyway,” Gwaine says generously. “You’re cute when you’re preoccupied.” He grins and takes a step closer, lowering his voice an octave. “Very cute, in fact." He leans in, giving Merlin ample time to pull away before their lips meet. The kiss is sweet and undemanding, and Merlin unconsciously leans into it, catching hold of Gwaine’s shoulders to steady himself. He likes Gwaine—he even likes Gwaine's kisses—but he can't help feeling there is something missing.  
  
“Sorry,” Gwaine says huskily, as Merlin gently disengages. "Figured I might not get another chance.”  
  
“It's fine,” Merlin says, fumbling to fit his keys into the lock behind him. The door swings open before he can find the catch, however, and Merlin stumbles backwards in shock, pulling Gwaine through the doorway after him.  
  
Someone is already inside, waiting for them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble prompt #296: Revelation.

 

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, you scared me half to death,” Merlin bursts out, catching himself at the last second with a hand on the wooden doorframe. Arthur stares back at him from the entranceway, for a moment looking as nonplussed as Merlin feels. Then his eyes flick past Merlin to Gwaine, and the startled expression vanishes, replaced with something carefully blank as he steps aside to let them pass.  
  
“Sorry,” he says, holding up a USB stick and avoiding Merlin’s gaze. “Had to pick up some files for tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting you to be back so early.”  
  
There’s no judgment in his tone that Merlin can discern, but the implication that he had timed his visit specifically to avoid Merlin’s presence makes him flush. “I didn’t offer you that spare key so you could give me a heart attack, you know,” Merlin says, a little more snippily than he’d intended. He can see Gwaine’s eyebrows rise from the corner of his eye, but for some reason Arthur’s mouth twitches.  
  
“It really was an emergency, I promise,” he says. “I needed a copy of an old file for an urgent meeting, but it's been deleted from the server. I knew you’d have kept a back up, so…” He trails off with a shrug, and his gaze lingers on Gwaine, who hasn’t moved from his spot behind Merlin, one hand still resting on Merlin's lower back. “Anyway, don’t let me keep you. I’ve got what I came for, so I’ll just—”  
  
“Wait,” Merlin blurts, then stops, realising he has no idea what to say. “Who—who are you meeting with? I didn’t think you had anything scheduled for tomorrow.” He's acutely aware of how awkward the situation is, but there is also the nagging feeling that he can’t just let Arthur _leave_ , not when he clearly has the wrong idea. “Tell me what you were looking for, and I'll go through my laptop in case there are any other files you might need.”  
  
“No, it’s fine.” Arthur waves the USB again. “My father needs to see me about something, that's all, and I really want to make sure that I’m prepared.”  
  
“Oh.” Merlin deflates a little. “Okay, then. I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.”  
  
“See you Monday,” Arthur agrees, and with a nod to Gwaine, he steps out the door. Merlin watches him half-jog down the front steps of the building, a sense of unease churning in his gut that is only partly to do with Arthur’s stand-offishness. It’s not entirely unusual for Uther Pendragon to drag his son in to work on the weekend, certainly, but it is unusual for Arthur to misplace important files, and even more so for him to travel half-way across town to retrieve them.  
  
“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Gwaine drawls over Merlin’s shoulder, sounding amused. “Positively scintillating.”  
  
“He’s not usually like that,” Merlin defends him, still frowning in the direction in which Arthur had disappeared. “Not to me, anyway. It’s just…like I told you, he’s been really stressed about work, and things have been weird between us since Valentine’s Day.”  
  
“Hmm. I wonder why that could be.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Merlin asks, turning to him with narrowed eyes.  
  
“Nothing.” Gwaine shakes his head. “The two of you deserve each other, that’s all.”  
  
He grins and tweaks Merlin’s nose when Merlin glowers at him.  
  
“I should get going,” he says regretfully, and the reluctance in his voice might have been flattering if Merlin weren’t still so preoccupied by Arthur’s behaviour. “Much as I would love to pick up where we left off, I make a point not to get involved with people who are taken.”  
  
“I’m not—”  
  
“Mate.” Gwaine stops him with a look. “Whatever you call it, you and Pendragon clearly have the kind of convoluted history that would take several decades and a couple of psychiatrists to sort through. And I’m really not looking for something that complicated.”  
  
“Fair enough.” Merlin musters a weak smile. He should probably be happy that Gwaine isn’t mad at him, under the circumstances, and it’s not as if he were intending this to be a serious fling, but after Arthur’s cold reaction, getting the brush-off from Gwaine kind of stings.  
  
“We can still be friends, though, right?” Gwaine offers, after a moment. “I haven’t finished explaining to you how very screwed up your priorities are, choosing a pooch over Hugh Jackman.”  
  
“Sure,” Merlin says, and this time his smile is more genuine. “I’d like that.”  
  
“Great.” Gwaine waves at him as he steps back out the door, turning around after a few steps to yell over his shoulder, “And you will tell me when you realise you’re far too good for Pendragon and want to give me a second chance, yeah?”  
  
Merlin can’t help snorting out a laugh. “Fuck off, Gwaine,” he calls back. “I could never date a man who would justify leaving an innocent puppy to die.”

 

  
+

 

  
  
Merlin doesn’t hear from Arthur again all weekend, although he and Gwaine strike up a running conversation via text which helps to sustain him over the two Arthur-less days that follow. It’s thanks to Gwaine’s prodding and poking that Merlin eventually gives in and goes to the pub with him and his mates, and to his surprise they end up having a fabulous time.  
  
It isn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d asked Gwaine out on that date, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction. Maybe he _is_ still all tangled up over Edwin, and maybe it’s a good idea to get some space from Arthur for a bit, until he can put things into perspective. Either way, when he walks into the Pendragon building on Monday morning, Merlin feels like his luck might finally be changing, at least for the moment.  
  
“Have a good weekend?” he asks Morgana cheerfully, when she enters the lift on the eighth floor. “Did you and Morgause manage to catch that film you were talking about?”  
  
“No, we didn’t.” Morgana’s mouth thins, her fingers tightening on the stack of folders in her arms. “My father called us in on Saturday and kept us here all bloody weekend.”  
  
“Oh right, yeah, I heard about that.” Merlin glances at her sidelong, wondering if he dares press for more information. Arthur will probably tell him everything once he gets upstairs, but Morgana sounds like she needs to vent, and there are only the two of them in the lift. “What was it about, anyway? Arthur would only say that it was urgent.”  
  
Morgana sets her jaw, a gesture that reminds him uncannily of her brother. “I can’t tell you,” she says, voice tight. “And before you ask, those are Arthur’s orders, not mine. He’ll want to see you in his office as soon as you get upstairs.”  
  
“Okay,” Merlin says slowly, his earlier optimism fizzling out with a pathetic _pffut_. “Morgana, is something wrong? With the company? Or—” _God forbid._ “—with Arthur?”  
  
“Arthur’s fine,” Morgana says, her face softening infinitesimally. “But, well. The company might not be.” She hesitates, then makes an _oh, screw it_ gesture with her free hand. “We think someone at Pendragon’s might be working for Essetir.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #297: Longing.

 

Arthur is already waiting for them when Merlin and Morgana reach his office, pacing the carpeted floor with his head bent. He jumps a little when Morgana pushes the door open, his eyes flying immediately to Merlin’s face. Merlin has no idea how to interpret his expression.  
  
“I told him,” Morgana announces, flouncing over to Arthur’s chair and dropping into it. Merlin sits down across from her, almost smiling when he sees Arthur’s wince—he hates it when Morgana steals his chair—but the situation is too dire for it to last long. “Well, I told him some of it. I thought I’d leave the details to you.”  
  
Arthur folds his arms and scowls at her. “You shouldn’t have told him anything,” he says, sounding cross. “If word of this gets out—”  
  
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Arthur,” Morgana cuts in. “You don’t believe it was Merlin any more than I do, and it’s not as if he’s had the chance to run off and blab about it; I’ve been right beside him the whole way here.”  
  
“Wait a minute.” Merlin glances from one sibling to the other, his mouth dropping open. “You thought _I_ would—”  
  
“Of course not,” Morgana says, glaring at her brother. “We know you’d never do something like that. _Don’t_ we, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur can’t seem to look at him, which to Merlin’s mind is as good as a denial. He swallows hard, blinking past the sting of hurt at the back of his eyelids.  
  
“Right,” he says, his voice wobbling. “I see.”  
  
“Merlin, no.” Arthur turns to him in a moment, taking a swift step forward before he catches himself. “Of course we don’t think it was you. Just.” He’s biting his lower lip, hard, something Merlin has only seen him do a handful of times. “Well. Did you ever talk about your work with Edwin? Maybe give him access to your computer, even just to check his email?”  
  
“Of course not!” Merlin glares at him, indignant. “I signed the non-disclosure agreement, just like everybody else! I’m not about to hand over confidential files!”  
  
“It’s only,” Arthur continues doggedly, showing no sign of having heard, “that the leaks began shortly after you broke up with him, and we all know that Edwin is—close to Sophia, who used to work for Cenred King. It isn’t much of a stretch to imagine that he might be working with her to pass along anything he found out.”  
  
Which would imply that it had all been a set-up from the start: his meeting with Edwin, their relationship, all of it. The thought makes Merlin feel sick.  
  
“Edwin never touched my laptop,” he says, his voice flat.   
  
“Not even when he stayed the night at yours?” Arthur presses. He is definitely avoiding Merlin’s gaze now, a muscle in his jaw jumping, but Merlin can tell he’s waiting for an answer. “He couldn’t have opened it while you went to the bathroom, or into the kitchen, or—”  
  
“I don’t know, okay!?” Merlin explodes, surging up out of his chair to pace the office in two quick strides. He turns around to face the two of them, not bothering to keep his voice down. “I don’t fucking know anything! You haven’t even told me what information has been leaked!”  
  
Arthur and Morgana exchange a speaking glance.  
  
“Merlin, we can’t,” Morgana says, surprisingly gently. “What matters is that only a few people had access to the details. You, me, Arthur, and maybe a handful of others.”  
  
“Then maybe one of them did it!”  
  
“My father has checked into most of them already,” Arthur says, looking uncomfortable. “He found nothing to connect anyone, however tenuously, to Cenred or to Essetir. Except for you.”  
  
Merlin stares at him with incredulity, still waiting for some kind of punchline. However rocky things have been between them lately, he can’t believe Arthur would simply assume Merlin had sold them out. Or perhaps Arthur merely thinks that he’s an idiot—that much, unfortunately, Merlin can easily accept. He’s not sure he can even be angry about it, since it’s beginning to look like he’s more of a hopeless fool than even Arthur had supposed. His shoulders slump, defeated. At least now he understands the reason for Arthur's late nights at the office, but he finds he can’t be all that pleased about it.  
  
“We’ll speak to Uther,” Morgana says, after a long silence. “He can’t sack you for something Edwin did, if it even was Edwin in the first place. At worst, all you did was trust someone you shouldn’t have, and it’s hardly the first time that’s happened to someone at this company.”  
  
She seems determined to defend him, which Merlin appreciates, but it’s Arthur that he can’t seem to look away from. For once, Arthur doesn’t flinch at his sister’s dig about Sophia, ignoring her angry ranting to step closer to Merlin.  
  
“Go home, Merlin,” he says softly, and for a moment they are the only two people in the room. “Take the day. We’ll figure out who did this, I promise.”  
  
His hand lingers for a moment on Merlin’s shoulder as he passes, his thumb sliding briefly against the bare skin of Merlin’s neck and beneath the collar of his shirt before letting go. It’s a perfunctory touch, too fleeting to properly qualify as sensual, but it’s the first between them in god only knows how long, and perhaps for that reason the wave of longing that envelops him takes Merlin completely by surprise. He sucks in a sudden breath, grateful when Arthur seems not to notice, and doesn’t let it out again until the other man has left, swinging the office door shut behind him. Then Merlin exhales loudly and slumps back into his chair, one hand covering his eyes.  
  
Had it been only a few minutes ago that he had felt like his luck was taking a turn for the better? Because from where he stands now, he’s pretty sure his life is royally fucked.


End file.
